Wednesday, January 14, 2009

“Light up, light upAs if you have a choiceEven if you cannot hear my voiceI'll be right beside you dear” Run - Snow Patrol

A bloated moon was trying to con its way into my room early Saturday morning, as if it felt the need to witness my insomnia once again.

My eyelids finally weighed in over my thoughts and I do believe I drifted off for approximately fifteen minutes, or maybe a lifetime, depending on your perception. It was the “wee” hours, when most tongues are collectively engaged in something far more enjoyable than verbiage, or they have signed on for snoring and swallowing detail only, so it was relatively quiet.

These January nights allow for open windows and where I live in Florida is quite flat so noise of any kind carries through screens without effort. The soft rustling of eyelashes brushing pillow every time I blinked was the only recognized layer over the silence, until I heard the sound.

That sound. Many have heard it and for some, it was the last thing audible. The unforgiving, callous sound of taking. The sound that took everything from me once, so I knew what came next.

5:17 A.M. Ten minutes passed before I heard the sirens. No helicopters.

That evening, on my way to pick up my friends, I saw the herd of mourners already placing floral markers in the dark.

My return trip was encased in fog that even werewolves would stay out of (I wonder if they drive?). It was nearly 24 hours later.

I found the story on the internet. The sound took three, one with the same first name as mine who was taken from me.

The name immediately triggers thoughts about those eyes that used to see the real me without expectations - they see for someone else now. The heart that symbolically belonged to me (even though I didn’t deserve it) saved yet another. All in all, what was taken from me was given to 6 others.

I take that fact and cover my ears with it, but I can still hear the sound.